Going Down in Flames
by Psalm 136
Summary: Bobby never thought he would meet up with John Allerdyce again. After Alcatraz, it seemed their paths were permanently set in opposite directions, but their paths cross. Bobby finally gets his closure, but not at the price of seeing John dead.


**I don't usually write slash, or even HINT at slash… but this is because I love my friend McKenna so much. She's a big Bobby/John fan, so… this is her Christmas present. This is only because I love her so much, and because she's making me a Scott fanvid. Also, this isn't huge, in-your-face slash. Its there if you want to see it. Otherwise, it's friendship.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men.**

Bobby Drake was having a difficult night. It was a few days before Christmas, and he was rushing through New York City, attempting to finish up his shopping. He knew he shouldn't have put it off, but he was a busy man, attending New York University and studying for his degree in comparative literature. He didn't have time to go shopping when he had several papers to write, not to mention a midterm exam to study for.

He weaved through the thick crowds that spilled over the edges of the sidewalks, grinding his teeth together against the cold. It was a terrible misconception that he could tolerate extreme cold. Some of the younger students thought it would be funny to see if he was tolerant of cold even in his sleep, and they decided that dumping buckets of ice onto him as he slept would be an accurate test of this. However, when the school's doctor had to treat them for mild frostbite, they had begun to rethink the validity of their scientific test. He didn't like being out in the cold, and the cold air mixed with the smog of New York City was wreaking havoc on his ability to stay calm.

He clutched three precious bags to his chest as he sighed, hopeless. He would never get back to the mansion before dinner, and his stomach was rumbling. He peered over the heads of the people in front of him, thankfully blessed with more height than most people, and couldn't see where he parked his car. He doubled back and looked up at the street signs. He cursed underneath his breath, and started off in another direction. It wasn't like he was hopelessly lost… it was merely that he didn't know where he was going. Please. Drakes did not become lost!

Minutes later as he turned onto a smaller, more out of the way street, he had to face facts. He was lost. He found a nearby bench and sat down, resting his tired feet. He relaxed his posture, keeping his bags close. One could never be too careful in NYC.

Bobby looked around. He was pretty sure that if he just cut through these back streets that were away from the clogged pedestrian centers, he could easily find his car. He had a general idea of where it was, since he had nearly thrown up after eating some suspicious food from a vendor near Cathy's Boutique, which was close to that one place (Theo's Greek Cuisine, he was sure it was called) that he had bought a bottle of water from. All he needed to do was find the Greek food place, and he was good to go. Marie would kill him if he was home late.

Even Bobby was pretty surprised that he and Marie had lasted so long. Usually, teenage relationships didn't last longer than six months. He and Marie had been together for almost five years, and they were in their early twenties now. Oddly enough, not much had changed since they were kids.

Sure, they were a little taller and a little older, and Marie had a beautiful diamond ring on her finger, and he had come close to being shot by her father when they had returned to Mississippi to spread their happy news to her relatives, but other than that… they hadn't changed. Their only fight had only ever been over the validity of his feelings for her.

If he was honest, yes, her mutation bothered him sometimes. He was sometimes overcome by so much emotion, he came close to tackling her and kissing the snot out of her, but then he remembered that he couldn't do that, and it disappointed him. That, however, did not change how he felt about her. He loved her, and would do anything for her. He planned on being by her side until he was no longer welcome. He had, after all, asked her to marry him. It wasn't that he wanted to prove to her how he felt. He had asked her to marry him because he did not want to part with her. He wanted to marry her because he loved her.

Bobby did love her. He wasn't scared of losing her so much that he was rushing to get to the altar. But… he still had ties to a past figure in his life.

When he had first arrived at Xavier's School, he had been scared and lonely. Back at his old high school, he had been popular and well liked by everyone. He always had a big group of friends to eat lunch with, since he had grown up in the school district. Now, he was the new kid, and he hated it. It wasn't that people weren't friendly to him; he just didn't have any friends.

Then some rude kid had plopped down in front of him and stole his milk. Bobby had been taken aback and asked the boy who he was. The boy had gruffly introduced himself as John. Bobby, appropriately missing his chocolate milk, asked John why he had stolen his milk. John replied with, "I wanted your milk. What's with your questions, man? You're annoying." And thus, their friendship had been born.

It wasn't like they ever talked about their painful pasts, or how hurt they were over people's actions. They just had never been like that, but when John left, it had been like Bobby's arm had been cut off. He was missing a vital part of himself, and he had always wondered after his best friend. He wondered if John was okay, or if he was warm enough when it was snowy and cold out. Most of the time, he worried if John was even still alive. After the Alcatraz incident, Bobby's fears of John being dead had doubled, and he was wracked with nightmares that his own violent actions had killed his friend.

Bobby sighed, closing his eyes for a brief moment. He jumped when he felt weight on the other side of the bench and his eyes flew open, his head turning to his companion. His heart thudded in his chest as he concealed the small ball of ice he had created at his side.

"What's wrong, Bobby? Not excited to see your friend?" His companion asked, his voice devoid of life and expression.

Bobby leaned forward, peering at the face of the other man, and to his shock, it was John Allerdyce. He was much scruffier with a few days' stubble on his strong jaw, and his clothes were tattered and much too thin for December, but it was John.

"Oh my God, John." His voice was colored darkly with concern, and broken slightly with fear and untold anger that he harbored for the betrayal that was still so fresh in Bobby's mind. "What are you doing here?" He asked, bewildered.

"I do whatever the fuck I please." John stated, his once-dead voice now shaded with his characteristic anger.

"Whatever." Bobby responded bitterly.

"What's your problem, Drake?" John smirked, his brown eyes glinting maliciously in the streetlamp light. "Not happy to see me?"

Bobby laughed derisively. "No, you know me. I'm ecstatic to see you. Especially after how we parted last time."

John pretended to remember. "Oh, yeah. After you tried to kill me." He sneered. "You seriously suck, Drake. I don't know how you're still alive after that shoddy display of ice fireworks." He rolled his eyes. "You're one weak fuck."

Years ago, Bobby would have been cowed into submission by John's many taunts and insults, but he had grown a thicker skin and the only result of his ex-friend's words was the anger he had covered over and hidden for years was finally being brought to the surface. His eyes flashed, and he dropped his bags to the ground. He stood up and grabbed John by the scruff.

"I hate you!" He yelled, letting go with one hand, only to smash his fist into John's face. "How could you just leave? And join up with Magneto! I hate you!" He screamed, throwing John onto the ground. Bobby towered over him, his breathing erratic.

John gently touched the place where Bobby hit him, the spot on his cheekbone turning red quickly. John looked up at his ex-friend, and he might have looked frightened for a mere moment. The pyromaniac thought over what just happened, and began to giggle hysterically. He rubbed at the small red patch on his face, snickering and snorting as the hilarity of the situation hit him.

Bobby cocked his head to the side, confused as to why John was laughing. "What is wrong with you?" He asked seriously.

John snorted, his laughter coming to a halt. He forced himself back onto his feet and stood up, looking Bobby in the eye. "I've been living on the street for almost four years now. A lot of things are wrong with me." He smirked, and turned around, walking a few paces away. "For instance," He began, turning back around, facing Bobby. "I haven't eaten in four days, and I haven't showered for longer. I think my hand is partially frozen, but I'm not going to go to the hospital. I enjoy my own pain."

Bobby could only watch in shock as John continued ranting. "I don't have any money, and I steal from everyone I can. I've gotten caught several times, but I just run from the police, even though being in prison would be better than living out here. I don't think I'm going to survive another winter." His words were cut off by a terrible cough that bubbled up in the back of his throat. John held onto the nearest wall to steady himself. As he straightened up, he wiped blood from his chin.

Bobby took a step forward, stunned by the appearance of blood. "Are you okay, John? I think you should go to a hospital." He continued towards the other man, stopping when he was merely feet away. "You don't look so good." He commented lightly, studying John's features from up close. His skin was pale, and he had dark purple stains underneath his eyes. His eyes were bloodshot, and blood was caked in his hair. There was a large gash on the side of his head, and Bobby could see dirt directly on the wound, and telltale signs of infection.

"No shit, Drake." John sneered. "I stole a Hispanic guy's wallet, and he and his brothers beat the hell out of me. I was out for at least a day in a tiny little alleyway." He swayed slightly on his feet and Bobby caught him. "Leave me alone." He spat.

"No." Bobby stated. "You're seriously hurt."

"I don't want any of your fucking heroics, Bobby." John shoved his old friend away, managing to stand on his own. "I'm fine." He crossed his arms over his chest, and Bobby could see dried blood on his forearms. "Even if I wasn't, I don't want any of your help."

"Why?" Bobby asked naively.

"You ruined my life." John's voice returned to it's dead state, like it had been when he had first sat down. Bobby saw that his eyes were unfocused; he was disconnecting so he didn't have to register Bobby's reaction. "I needed a friend, even though I left. You just left me there to die. I hated you."

"Hated?" Bobby asked, an eyebrow slightly raised.

"I can't hate you, Bobby." John's eyes refocused on him. "You were my only friend in that hellhole. You tried to save me, even though you're too fucking innocent to see I can't be saved."

Bobby stood there, stunned. What could he say? He was still angry with John. He'd messed up, really badly, too. He wasn't about to fall to his knees and beg John to come back to the mansion with him. John would never come back. That was simply the way it would be. Even if, by some miracle and supernatural act of God, John forgave himself and Bobby and everyone else, he wouldn't come back. Bobby accepted that that part of John's life was over. John wasn't meant to stay at the mansion forever, whereas it was Bobby's path to take over the team and take up the mantle Cyclops left behind. That was what he had worked for since he had learned of the X-Men. It was what he wanted and needed to do. John… he was a wilder spirit and couldn't stay in one place for too long.

"I'm sorry that life was crap to you." Bobby shoved his hands into his pockets and looked at the ground.

"Shut up, Bobby." John snapped. "I don't want your apologies."

"Fine." Bobby forced himself to remain calm.

John suddenly let out an angry yell and slammed his fist into Bobby's stomach. Bobby doubled over, his own primal anger ignited, and fell to his knees, bending over as he tried to breathe. A long moment passed, and he pushed himself to his feet, punching John in the mouth, splitting open the other young man's lip and causing him to have a nosebleed. Blood dripped over his teeth and down his chin. John spit onto the ground and wiped his mouth.

"Are you ready to finally kill me, Bobby?" John asked, a laugh in his voice. "You couldn't kill me, fucker. You're too weak and soft!" Giggles crept over him once more. "I bet Rogue broke up with your sorry ass a long time ago, and I bet you're the leader of the X-Men because you let Logan fuck you!" He fell over because he was laughing too hard.

Bobby looked down at his friend, beyond confused. On one hand, he wanted to feel bad for John because his mental state had deteriorated so, but on the other hand; he wanted to break his ex-friend until he was sobbing for all he had done. He wanted to hate John for every insult, every taunt, and every angry word he had ever spoken. Bobby wanted to hate John for his betrayal and going with Magneto. Despite what he wanted, all he found himself doing was sinking to his knees and putting a hand on John's chest, though John was still fighting the vestiges of his giggling fest.

"You… man, you are really screwed up." Bobby sighed, offering John a hand. "Come on, let's get you to a hospital." He said as John began to cough again, specks of blood landing on his pale, sickly cheeks.

"No, I'm not going to a hospital! They won't treat me, I'm a mutant." He slurred, his eyes becoming unfocused again. "I don't feel good, Bobby."

Bobby sighed, dropping his hand to his side. "I know." He muttered. "You've been out here for too long."

For a long while, they lapsed into silence, John laying on the ground and Bobby kneeling at his side. John closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling slowly, obviously asleep on the cold ground. Bobby watched John's face as he slept. The always angry young man seemed tortured, even in what should be peaceful sleep. His thin lips twitched slightly and his eyes moved underneath his eyelids, telltale signs of nightmares. Bobby didn't want to know what John was dreaming of.

"Bobby?" John's eyes eased open and his hand, dried blood, bruises and all, reached over for Bobby's instinctively, terrified of the dream world he had just left and the real world he was entering.

Bobby, not knowing what else to do, took John's hand, attempting to comfort him physically, if words would not. His throat seemed stuck, and no words would form, even if his mind could conjure up something to say.

"You are one little shit, man." John mumbled, a blood bubble growing and then popping through his barely parted lips. "But thanks."

Bobby furrowed his eyebrows, confused, and then realized why John had suddenly gone still. Tears burned in his eyes and trickled down his face as a harsh sob forced its way from his throat. He bent over the motionless, lifeless body of a man who had once been his friend, and cried. It didn't occur to him to call an ambulance, though when it did and his numb fingers stumbled over the buttons of his cell phone it was probably too late. All he could do was hold the body in his weak arms and mourn.


End file.
